Sanjeet yelled after me, reaching desperately for the sky. His voice grew fainter with every word. “Ojiji . . . across Aritsar . . . noble families . . . danger. Please, Tar, be care—”

But then I was back in the Imperial Suite, jolting upright and covered with sweat. I snatched another kuso-kuso leaf from my nightstand, desperate to fall back asleep. But whenever I tried to connect with Sanjeet again, the ojiji were there, shrieking, crying, filling my head until I had no choice but to wake. At last, I gave up, collapsing on my back with exhaustion.

If he wanted to help you, breathed the child chorus, as this time I drifted into dreamless sleep—then he shouldn’t have left.

Do more, Empress Redemptor. Do more.

You are alone.

CHAPTER 17

Weeks passed by in a blur. I met with Min Ja and Da Seo every morning in the sky-blue tent, chatting companionably over breakfast before inhaling kuso-kuso and succumbing to my coursing stream of memories. After my body adjusted to the daily trances, I began to have sessions in the evenings as well, with Chief Uriyah of Blessid Valley, and then with young King Ji Huan of Moreyao. I grew more adept at uprooting the barbs in my mind’s garden, tearing out unflattering memories and replacing them with neat, manicured blooms.

In this version of my story, the one I showed the rulers, I had not chosen to erase my own memories, selfishly joining Dayo’s council even though I had known it would put him in danger. No . . . my memories had vanished on their own. A traumatic side effect of the Children’s Palace fire. A tragic injury—entirely out of my control. And I hadn’t betrayed Thaddace’s secret to The Lady. In fact, I hadn’t known of Thaddace and Mbali’s affair at all. His choice to save Mbali over the emperor had shocked me as much as anyone.

Most importantly: In this version of my story, I had no memory of stabbing Ekundayo Kunleo.

I had woken above his body, yes. And his blood had been on my hands. But I didn’t remember it happening. I had been in a trance the whole time; a mindless pawn, waking from a horrible dream . . . not a monster who had lured him to Enitawa’s Quiver, lucid, calculating, and coldly determined.

I told myself I was being fair. I didn’t avoid every uncomfortable memory, after all. I let Min Ja see my failure to protect Ye Eun, my grief over the Unity Edict, and my struggle to accept my complicated Kunleo lineage. I even shared intimate moments between me and Sanjeet—my pain at his distrust after Enitawa’s Quiver, and my lust for his touch, even as I feared hurting him.

Chief Uriyah’s brow knit disapprovingly when he learned how I rebelled against the last emperor, and Ji Huan’s cheeks flushed at my steamier memories with Sanjeet . . . but the rulers and I grew closer. Min Ja claimed to dream in my voice. Uriyah smiled, gravely but paternally, whenever we passed each other in the palace hallways. Ji Huan invited me for shy games of checkers in his private villa.